


Of Lead and Lustre

by FoxLight



Series: The Strawberry Shortcake Chronicles [15]
Category: Trollhunters (Cartoon)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Forgiveness, Gen, flower petals
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-24
Updated: 2018-09-24
Packaged: 2019-07-16 07:12:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16081097
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FoxLight/pseuds/FoxLight
Summary: On the eve of battle, Walter steels his heart.





	Of Lead and Lustre

He could smell Barbara’s shampoo from the other side of the room. She’d just showered, leaving space for the other guests to use the bathroom as they needed, and had tucked herself into a long, silky robe he’d borrowed from her more than once during his nightly stays in the past. Dark blue with a floral pattern, it had produced the desired amount of laughter when he wore it – something he desperately wished he could hear within the current atmosphere of chaos. He loved making her laugh, loved charming her into forgetting her woes, loved being the one for her to turn to, in world where everyone else turned to _her_. 

Now, of course, he was unsure of exactly how much of him she wanted. They’d been through more than their fair share of hell over the past few days. And it wasn’t over: Morgana was free, Gunmar had control of Trollmarket, and Young Atlas would be called to battle within the next few hours. Although the boy’s transformation had made things more hopeful, the odds of their survival remained grim. Even if the fledgling Trollhunter and his rag-tag team (himself included) managed to take down the likes of Gunmar, Morgana would surely kill them. Merlin’s magic would only overpower her _if_ the churlish sorcerer managed to get his powers back. Walter doubted his ability. Morgana had been formidable even while her body was sealed from the rest of the world, and while Merlin slept, she’d been quietly studying the realms of both human and troll from within the shadows. She knew exactly how to execute her revenge, and how to make the world understand her sovereignty.

The breath that rushed out of Barbara’s lungs was soft, fluttering, full of fear, echoing Walter’s thoughts. He caught it over the sound of Blinky’s mutterings, and AAARRRGGHH!!!’s occasional rumble of agreement. Merlin had miraculously fallen asleep in the garage, while Claire, Jim, and Toby had taken refuge in Jim’s room upstairs. For the past hour, they had been catching Nomura, Mrs. Domzalski, Dictatious, NotEnrique, and Ophelia and Javier Nuñez upon the latest news: discussing potential strategies, tactics and outcomes regarding Morgana’s release. Although somewhat at fault for the sorceress’ return, Walter could hardly feel regret. With Angor and Gunmar in the room, exploring options had been out of the question. In the end, he’d done what Jim would have wanted -- what he silently vowed he would always do -- he’d kept Barbara safe.

At least from the troll goons...keeping Barbara safe from a horde of anxious parents was another thing entirely. 

“You can’t tell us to stay calm when our daughter is going up against a centuries-old sorceress and her pit-bull henchmen in a fight that could end humanity as we know it.” Javier barked as he rubbed at Ophelia’s shoulders with one hand, the other holding Enrique close to his chest.

Blinky crossed his four arms as he glared at both of Claire’s parents, “panic, then, for all the good _that_ will do you.” 

“We will!” Ophelia shouted.

“C’mon, lady,” Nomura hissed, leaning against the couch. “I’ve seen firsthand what those kids can do. If anyone needs to be afraid tonight, it’s Morgana.” 

“Guys, calm down,” the doctor spread two arms between them. “We can’t have this argument again. Let’s keep our voices down and let the kids rest. I’m just as scared as any of you, but we have to trust them, and let them do what they are meant to do. They’ve been training every day behind our backs for _this_ , and now that we know, we’ll be there to help them. It’s going to be okay.”

“I don’t know about that,” Dictatious chimed, “The Pale Lady is not a creature to be underestimated. By this time tomorrow, we may all be condemned to either death, or a life of servitude.”

“ _Not_ helping, brother” the blue troll growled.

“What’s going to happen to my Toby-Pie?” Nana grabbed the green troll by his suspenders.

“Wingman fight.” AAARRRGGGHH!!! explained.

“Oi, where’s the Parmesan!?” NotEnrique shouted from the hallway, voice loud enough to crack glass, wielding a spoon. “I’m making us trolls a sock-it-too-me smoothie before the big day tomorrow. Ya want some, boss?” He pointed the spoon toward Strickler.

“I told you,” he grumbled, dusting off his knees before he stood. “I don’t eat socks. Alright everyone!” he shouted, voice reminiscent of the one he’d often used to take control of a classroom. “It’s been a harrowing night, but I think we should all retire. We’ve a long day ahead of us tomorrow, and Barbara is right, the children need their rest. Further discussion can wait until the morning.”

“Why, that’s the first thing you’ve said tonight that I can agree with, Strickler.” Blinky raised a finger.

“Thank you, Blinkous.” Walter nodded his way, while Nomura rolled her eyes.

The teacher shot his fellow changeling a look. “Does everyone have their accommodations arranged? Mr. and Mrs. Nunez, I assume that you two have elected to stay nearby?”

“We are not leaving our daughter alone.” Javier crossed his arms. “Barbara has already offered us the master bedroom downstairs.”

Walter looked to Barbara for support, but she was nowhere to be found.

“It lacks a bed,” he explained, “most of what’s in there is storage.”

“Sí,” said Claire’s father. “but there is an air mattress somewhere, or so she says. We will go and find it.”

“I’m sure that will be fine,” he muttered, eyes turning to scan the hallway as the couple left. No signs of her there, either. His heart began to sink. 

“Blinky and me take basement,” AAARRRGGHH!!! announced, and began to usher his companion out of the room.

“I concur, my dear friend,” Blinky said, letting himself be steered. “Master Jim needs all of the rest that he can get, and _we_ need to think of how best to enjoy these last few moments of peace.”

Nomura took the opportunity to sit on the couch, testing its plushness. “I’m fine here. Beats the Darklands any day.”

“What about _me_ , Brother?” Dictatious quivered, “Brother!?” He shouted, reaching into the empty air. “Where am I supposed to stay!”

“Oh, you can come to my house dearie.” Nana spoke before Walter could offer him the pantry. “Toby is staying over here tonight. You can have his room.” The elderly lady took him by the hands and made her way toward the door. “Toby-Pie!” She shouted up the stairwell. “Nana’s going to go home and watch her shows! Call me if you get any news on your little attack.”

“Okay, Nana!” A voice shouted, “but it’s not little! It’s a pretty big deal.”

“Whatever you say, precious. Don’t stay up too late!” She led Dictatious out of the door.

“Well,” Walter huffed, looking to Nomura as the fellow changeling reclined and closed her eyes. “that was quick.”

“And where are you gonna stay, oh infatuated one?” Nomura snickered beneath her breath as she folded her hands behind her head.

“What?” his nostrils flared.

“Oh please,” she opened an eye, “don’t try to deny it.”

For a moment, his gaze grew indignant, but then he huffed and sidled over to the couch. Taking a seat at the end of her feet, he resigned. “I’m not,” His hand flew up to brace his forehead. “This is ridiculous. I’m entirely out of my element.”

Nomura chuckled. “Well you’re neck deep in a _new_ element now. There’s no going back.”

“I don’t want to go back,” he shifted, “I’m just…afraid,” green eyes looked to her, reflecting that state. “It’s difficult to tell where I stand with her. This isn’t the sort of acceptance one gains through murder and maleficence.”

“Yeah,” one eye cracked open, “I know. You’re not the first one to fall in love with someone on the side of light. It was hard to tell with Drall, too. One day we were at each others throats, the next...”

Walter’s shoulders sagged. “We haven’t had much time to speak since Drall--”

“I know,” she cut him off trough tightened lips. “I’m not ready. Just do me a favor and don’t let the love of your life pass you by like I did. It’s not worth your pride.” 

A smile found him where words could not suffice. “Well,” he said eventually. “When you’re ready for an ear, you know how to find me. Should I die in battle tomorrow before that happens, you ought to know that I’ve always been fond.”

Beneath her breath, Nomura laughed. “You’ve never been good at hiding it.”

His own laugh bubbled as he got up.

“Hey Strickler?” 

He paused within the entryway.

“Thanks for coming back for me. Even though you ended up getting yourself in a heap-load of trouble, letting Morgana free, and dooming us all to a gruesome, bloody death,” she smirked when Walter frowned. “I’m glad you cared.”

“I’ve always cared, Nomura. You’re welcome.” The glint in his eye lingered as he left.

***

Once in the hallway, Walter’s journey led him toward the dining room, where the muted wavelengths of Barbara’s voice floated through the kitchen pass-through.

“We also have a brick of molding cheddar cheese if you want to add some spunkiness to that concoction. Extra sharp.” She taunted.

“Oh, I like the way you think, Doc.” NotEnrique’s raspy voice followed, “it’ll pair nicely with them freezer-toasted fish sticks I found.”

She laughed, “I think you mean freezer-burnt.”

Walter hid himself behind the nearest wall, brows knitting together in curiosity as he listened on. 

“So, eh? You and the boss,” NotEnrique cleared his throat as he opened the refrigerator door. “What’s goin’ on there?”

Walter could all but see the way Barbara tucked a stand of hair behind her hear, voice directing itself toward the floor.

“You mean Walter?”

“Yea, that old bag of schemes has done ya wrong a few times, and you know he ain’t exactly human.”

Barbara gave a nervous huff. “Believe me, no one knows those things better than I do.“

“But he’s also worked a lot to make up for it. And of course, there were plenty of things that he could’a done but didn’t.”

“Like what?”

“If he’da wanted to, he could’ve offed the boy and his friends a long time ago. The bossman always put on a good show for Bular –that’s Gunmar’s son – but when push came to shove he never really did any more than test the kids out. I saw what was goin’ on. The night he tried to steal your boy’s amulet, I was with the rest of the crew tryin’ to break into his office. He saw ‘em comin’ left a nasty monster waiting for ‘em when they got inside, but he also left the Fetch – a tool we used to steal babies into the Darklands. I still worked for the boss back then, tryin’ to spy on the kids and all. When I had to give him my report that night, I thought he was gonna skin me alive for lettin’ them get to the Fetch, but the guy didn’t even bat an eye. I knew there was something else brewing between those elephant ears right then and there.”

Out of view, Strickler made a face.

“He’s had a soft spot for your kid since the start.” NotEnrique continued, “And it started eating away at that stone ticker of his, but things got way worse once he found you. I didn’t find out until later but he had that entire Janus Order up in arms thinkin’ he was tryin’ to make a power grab, when really he was fallin’ for a human! Geez, if the other guys had known _that_ he would have been a laughing stock! I mean instant demotion. It woulda ruined him like that.” Walter heard something slap in emphasis against the table.

“So, you disguise yourselves as humans, but you don’t normally get involved with them.”

“Not like him. That’s one’a the first things about being a changeling. Ya get in, ya get comfortable, but ya don’t get attached. Humans are vehicles we use to increase the breadth of our kind’s influence within the sunlit world; we’re not supposed to let them manipulate or change us, and we’re _especially_ not allowed to go past a certain point within a-uh...companionable relationship. ”

A cabinet clamped shut. Barbara cleared her throat. “Not allowed?”

“You can blow your cover real easy that way, doc. It takes more than most changelings wanna go through to get as good as the boss. Those Janus agents are put through a brutal run-through – tortured when necessary – to get as good as they are at not changin’ under pressure. The instinct is sorta hard to kick, and all of us changelin’s go through training but these guys’re like the G.I. Joes among our ranks. Nothin’ gets past them, but even the best of them weren’t as good as ol’ Stricklander. I always knew he was feared for his abilities, but I had no idea he was _that_ good. If you two were as close as I’m thinkin’ you were; that’s unheard of. He never changed on you? Not once?”

“I’m not _entirely_ sure I should be having this conversation with a baby.”

“Hey, miss,” the thump of the refrigerator door echoed into the hallway, “I’m a few centuries old, here. _You’re_ the baby..”

“Fair enough.” Walter peered around the corner far enough to see her crossing her arms as she placed her weight against the counter. "Anything else you wanna add to this dirty, sock-filled concoction?”

“Got any used cat litter?”  


“Okay,” she pursed her lips in consternation, a look he found utterly beguiling. “I draw the line at feces.”

“Then no,” NotEnrique pressed a paw against the blender’s “low” setting (which was now the only setting), careful not to scrape his hide against the exposed wiring where Jim had bitten into it. Although the appliance still worked, it sparked and sputtered. Barbara eyed it cautiously.

“So anyway,” NotEnrique continued once he turned the device off, “my point in all of this is that he’s not been the most morally grounded guy all his life, but if there’s one thing we changelin’s are capable of, it’s change. I’m not sayin’, he deserves your company or nothin’, I’m just sayin’ that if you wanted _his_ – and ya seem to – he’s cleaned house and left the door wide open for you. My folk can be hard to read, Doc. We’re taught from an early age to be as cold and unmovable as the elements we’re made of…I just though ya might wanna know.“

Barbara stared at the vomitous green fluid for a while, not at all affected by the consistency or smell (far worse had flung itself upon her lab coat).

“When Vendel undid the binding spell, Walter tried to talk to me. I didn’t even let him have a word, just said that I wanted to forget him.” A stray hair glided along her cheekbone as she shook her head. "Regardless of what he may or may not have deserved, we were still bonded. I finally understood _why_ I had been having all of these strange sensations that seemed unrelated to my own physical and emotional experience, and I felt how much my words hurt him.”

Walter closed his eyes, spine running flush against the wall as he remembered the pain, the guilt.

“Well,” NotEnrique chimed, “our kind’s used to being rejected. After a while, we hardly shrug a shoulder at it. If he felt any kind of sting at all,” he paused to scratch his ear, “that means something.”

“I know it does.” He heard the clink of her glasses on the table as she sighed. “I know he could felt my pain, too. I know that both of us went far deeper into this relationship than either of us ever intended to: he because I’m human, me because I’m a mom...” a thick swallow. “What I don’t know is what to do _now._ I’m not even sure I have the time to think about it. My son is changing, this city is in danger, and everything I thought I knew has been turned right on its head. I can't tell what’s right or wrong anymore. I don’t even know what’s _real._ ”

NotEnrique was silent. Walter heard Barbara shift uncomfortably. 

“I’m sorry,” she scoffed at herself. “You were just trying to make conversation, weren’t you? Thank you for letting me know about Walt. I appreciate the input from someone who has experience being what he is.”

“Actually, I _was_ kinda curious.” the imp shrugged, placing the cap on the blender before he lifted the reservoir away from the motor. “But, you’re welcome. I gotta ask one last thing, though. I guess its sort-of a selfish question, in a way...”

“Shoot.”

“Doesn’t the whole lean, mean, stony and green thing bother ya at all? I can’t really gauge what you think.”

“You mean his other form?”

“Yeah,” NotEnrique cocked his head.

Walter’s eyes widened, and, following a moment of silence, he peered around the corner once more.

…only to find the doctor whispering into the minion’s ear.

“Wow” NotEnrique blinked once she pulled away. Her expression hinted at quiet amusement, though a sadness remained, refusing to be shaken away. “You’re like poetry, doc.” He said, before scampering away with his glop-filled container. 

Three hops out of the kitchen, chaos struck. Walter barely had time to recoil before the diminutive changeling ran head-first into his shin. 

“Wah!” the imp gasped in surprise. Walter winced and held his breath. 

“Are you okay!?” the doctor’s voice floated from the kitchen. Walter heard her glasses fall to the ground, no doubt having been knocked away in her search.

The teacher put a finger to his lips and glared down at NotEnrique.

“Uh, yeah.” The imp shouted over his shoulder from the hall. “Almost ran into a-uh, a vase. Night doc!”

“Thank you.” Walter mouthed as the imp finally made his escape.

He took a breath and peeked back around the entryway as Barbara, having found her glasses, rose from the ground and held them up to the light. As she peered through the lenses, Walter took her in: stiff shoulders, storm-laden eyes, and gaunt-yet-graceful face all worn thin with worry. He wanted to go to her, to caress her arm, hold her, and tell her that all would be well-- but even after all they’d been through, he didn’t know where he stood. There hadn’t been time for discussion, or the frivolity of love.

Making a few adjustments to the frame, and granting the lenses a solid scrubbing with the hem of her shirt, she donned her glasses once more. 

With wide eyes, he swallowed. She caught the sound, turning sharply, to squint in the direction of the hall, but no one occupied the door frame. 

Having tucked himself back into the hallway, Walter’s green eyes squeezed shut. He heard her sigh, and listened to the back door as it squealed open, and then closed, and then silence reigned within the household. 

_You fool._ He thought. _You coward._ He should have gone to her. She needed the comfort. Yes, they’d been treading on eggshells, but what did it matter? They were going to die tomorrow. Their luck would run out and they would burn with the rest of Arcadia. He had to take a chance, had to tell her how much she meant to him, if only one last time. 

A determined growl crawled out from between his clenched teeth. He lifted himself away from the wall, marched into the kitchen, and headed for the back door. 

***

Minutes later, he stared, red-eyed, through the window nearest the back door, watching Barbara’s tired shoulders sway along the stoop. Of course he’d chickened out. The last thing he wanted to do was make her uncomfortable. She was already having a difficult time; there was no need to regale her with his passions. Confound it, he didn’t know what to do. He could tell that she was tearing up just by the tensity of her shoulders. God, how beautiful the moonlight was along those shoulders, covered in silk and running red with tresses of her hair. She didn’t deserve this, to see her son preparing for war. No mother did, but especially not her.

“You know,” a young voice stirred from behind him, jolting him. “If you fancy her, I submit that talking _to_ will be much more effective than staring _at._ ”

Unused to being sneaked up on—his hearing had always been superior—his turned in surprise. 

“Sage advice, Young Atlas,” he said, granting the boy an acknowledging nod.

“Yeah, I got it from this really cool teacher I had once.” Armored shoulders shrugged as the boy fished a bag of microwaveable popcorn from the pantry with one hand. “He told the worst jokes in his history class, and I mean the _worst_. They were so cheesy it hurt.” A purple hand gestured in the air. “But when it came down to it, I think he really cared about his students.” The child flashed a small, toothy smile. “I kind of miss that guy.”

Walter’s smile was as soft as a feather’s fall. In the violet-colored hand not holding popcorn, something electronic caught his focus. He fought to control his laughter. “What did you do to your gaming controller?”

“I accidentally ate it while we were watching cat videos.” Jim lifted the dangling wires up to the light, then set it on the counter. He peeled the plastic bag away from the popcorn’s waxy bag, then tossed it in the microwave, fumbling to hit the button with his stony hands. He prevailed. “It’s hard to control my appetite right now. I feel like I could eat the entire house.”

A small laugh escaped the instructor. “Part of that is because you’ve changed, the other part is because you are still an adolescent. Trolls, for the most part, have slow metabolisms and do not require frequent meals – but even as adults we go through periods of growth or repair that cause us to become extremely famished. The frequency of this process varies from species to species, but no matter the type, a young troll who is entering puberty will suffer this condition in spades. Most don’t bother attempting to contain it, but for a changeling it is necessary to do so.”

“How’d _you_ control it?” 

“It wasn’t always easy. And I didn’t have help, as you do. In those days, changelings were a rare breed.” Green eyes regarded the window. “I tried a variety of techniques, often failing. Bad things happened when I did: I took out an entire train-car containing a circus elephant during one ravenous plight.”

The Trollhunter’s eyes bulged. “You _ate_ an elephant?”

“A large portion of one.” Walter stepped forward, placing his hands behind his back. “The poor brute was suffering anyway, chained and whipped as he was, but the situation garnered far too much attention. It may have gained me some clout with the brutish Gumm-gumms, but I served a higher power. It wasn’t in my interest to attract attention. I had to find a way redirect my appetite.” 

“So what’d you do?”

“Eventually, I developed a concoction made of curdled milk, pigs blood, and whale fat, modifying the recipe when necessary to sate my overactive hunger. These days, I stick to a combination of protein powders and rancid boiled eggs. Many things that are hard to palate within the range of the human diet—gritty energy bars, festering meat, television dinners—are quite enjoyable to trolls. Sometimes, when I was over here, I would shift when your mother left the room, and her food became quite the delicacy.”

“You know,” he shook a violet finger at the changeling. “I might have to try that one.”

The microwave beeped and the teenager flicked it open. Grabbing a bowl, he opened the bag and voided its steamy contents. The smell of butter thickened in the air, clogging Walter’s nostrils.

“Popcorn, Atlas?”

“It’s for Claire,” he said, “looking down into the cheery puffs of corn. “She wanted a snack.”

“And what of you?”

“I don’t want to ruin all mom’s stuff. Well,” he flourished, hugging the bowl to his hip with one arm. “I’m gonna tell mom goodnight and take this upstairs. I-uh--” he fidgeted, biting his lip around his tusks. "Good luck.”

“Hold on,” his projected voice stopped the boy in his tracks. “I know that look. Two years of teaching you--you have a question.”

The half-troll’s shoulders slumped. He turned around, leaning the small of his back against the counter. 

“I don’t know what’s going to happen tomorrow,” Jim said a, setting the bowl beside him. “Even if I kill Gunmar, I don’t know if I’ll make it back. This could be the last real conversation I have with Mom, or Claire, or anybody. You once told me that no one walks away from a fight with Gunmar. I just want to know that they’re gonna be okay, even if I’m not.”

The changeling frowned, brows furrowing. “That was the grave sand talking.”

“But it’s true, isn’t it? You guys have all been coddling me. Especially you. You pretended you were trying to kill me in those training sessions, but you were pulling your punches. I can feel how strong I am in this form. You could have ripped me apart. And Angor Rot...when I put the ring on, I could feel what it was like to control him. I could feel how _powerful_ he was. He’s killed Trollhunters with much more skill than what I had, and he could have killed me. But he couldn’t, could he? Because _you_ were preventing it. Your will surpassed his own. That’s why he hated you so much. He was _made_ to kill Trollhunters, and you wouldn’t let him finish the job.”

A derisive huff found the air. “Now why would I go and do a thing like that?”

“It let you have complete control,” Jim said, dispensing his realizations. “It kept Gunmar and the Janus Order from thinking you had turned your back, it kept me becoming a direct target, _and_ it kept you safe from me while you tried to figure out whether or not I was worth the investment.”

“You always were a clever boy,” the changeling smirked, hands floating into his pockets. 

“That entire time you were trying to protect me. Everyone has been. I don’t know if I have any strength of my own.”

It would have been so convenient, he thought, to let the boy believe in that simple perspective: altruistic teacher uses centuries of rapport to deceive an evil warlord and save his favorite pupil from the clutches doom. But it wasn’t the truth.

“No, Young Atlas, that isn’t correct.” His sore eyes burned into Jim’s. “It may have started as an attempt at mercy, but it didn’t end that way. When you first stumbled upon the amulet, Bular wanted very badly to kill you. Fond of you as my pupil, I tried to forestall this, hoping that either your troll friends would find a way to separate you from the amulet’s grasp, or that you would prove yourself worthy of the hunter’s mantle. Of course, I was curious, too, to see where the amulet’s decision was headed. For a novice, you were good, Jim, but not good enough to defeat the likes of Gunmar.” He shook his head, somewhat in shame. “Better to kill you, I thought than to let you become Bular’s plaything. A troll would take your place, and our world would return to the way it had functioned for centuries. It was easier for everyone except your mother and friends.”

He paused, allowing Jim swallow the thought down. The boy said nothing. “Once you defeated Bular, I began to see a different path. Maybe, I reasoned, just maybe this could work. I despised Gunmar for his part in my kind’s subjugation. I wanted nothing more than to see him taken from his throne. But,” the changeling tented his fingers in the air, leaning in to emphasize his words, “I had to play it safe. My faith in your abilities was still a budding thing, and as with all matters of battle, conditions were chaotic. There were many factors at play that I could neither predict nor direct. Gaining control became my sole objective: thus Angor, thus the enchantment, thus my change of status from your teacher to your principal. Above all, I could not afford to lose the favor of my creator, The Lady Pale.”

“Morgana.” Jim voiced her name. 

“Yes” Walter folded his arms, pensive. “Before her recent release, few had ever had the privilege of hearing her voice, yet in shadows she spoke to _me._ Centuries, I served her as her secret knight, ever at her beck and call, and in return she granted me small boons. Baited with promises of eternal freedom, my brethren soon joined me, and together we created an initiative of changeling knights sworn to execute Morgana’s will both above and below the surface lands— the Order of Janus, as you know it now. We fought with fidelity, died with her name on our lips, and yet Gunmar remained at her right hand. Naturally, I was jealous, and became feverish to prove my worth.” Here, came the hardest part to admit, the spring from which he sourced his current shame. A certain silence crept into the moment, pregnant with dread. “When I summoned Angor, I kept you alive, Young Atlas,” guilt closed his eyes, “not for your sake, or Gunmar’s or even your mother’s, but for my own selfish benefit. I could offer Morgana something better than a dead Trollhunter: a servile one. You had a human heart, one to be exploited, and I knew exactly how to do it. Did I have reservations because of who you were? Yes, but that didn’t stop me. After centuries seeking power and glory for my people with me at their helm, I went forward with my plans.”

When he opened his eyes, the Trollhunter was frowning. He his heart shrank to the size of a pebble. 

Jim shifted hiss stance, reflecting his teacher’s solemnity. “Well, you’re here now. What gives?”

“Your mother introduced blasphemous thoughts.” he said, almost whimsically. “My feelings began to shift even before I enacted the binding spell, but afterwards…I lack the lexicon, Jim. Morgana fell silent the moment the bond struck. I tried to reestablish contact, but nothing came of it.” His green eyes glinted in earnest. “Freedom is a monster of its own – when you’ve been in shackles your entire life, it’s difficult to live without their weight. I felt exposed, insecure, uncertain of how to proceed with my plans. All attempts to move forward failed, and as I spent more time with your mother, the Gumm-Gumm agenda became increasingly less important. I felt her light, fell in love with it.” He shook his head, at a loss. “Everything changed.”

Jim’s gaze was hard, dubious. Walter felt the scrutiny was deserved, but he didn’t look away from the boy, letting him judge. Jim snorted, in a way befitting of a troll, and his armored shoulders straightened. “Just like that, huh?” 

“I know it’s difficult to believe,” he said, somewhat meekly, “In the end, I sought to use Angor as you suspected: to protect the two of you from harm, and if I didn't want you rescuing my familiar, it was only because I wanted to spend more time with her. When my heart changed, Angor caught on quickly. I knew it was only a matter of time...a part of me didn’t want to be unbound from your mother because of what I felt I would lose. Of course when she was injured, that complicated matters. I--”

“You didn’t exactly act like you wanted to help her.” Jim interrupted, crystal eyes burning. 

“Ugh,” Walter gestured in surrender, “I knew there was a war coming, Jim. How was I supposed to help if I’d been drawn and quartered by the denizens of Trollmarket? I put up enough of a fight to secure my release, and then I did what I would have done anyways.”

“Sure,” Jim rolled his eyes. 

“You forget, Atlas, that my life was at equal risk. The enchantment worked both ways. Had she perished, I would have met my end as well. If not from the wound, then by your hand.”

“I thought it just went in one direction.”

“Heavens no, that would have been far easier.”

The Trollhunter crossed his arms.

“I mean,” he corrected, expression timorous, “I’m happy that it wasn’t, but you can see why I might have elected to choose otherwise, given the option. Anyway,” he straightened his jacket. The counter was beginning to dig into his spine. “It turns out that the binding doesn’t matter. When you and Toby went into the shadow realm to rescue Claire, Morgana tried her level best to regain her hold over me. She couldn’t. The love I shared with your mother kept me from being overpowered.” He stepped toward the boy, eyes genuine in their wonder. “I don’t know how, but I can tell you one thing, Jim: you will defeat Gunmar tomorrow, not because you have the body of a troll, but because you have the heart of a human. Your mother’s heart. Neither troll nor wizard gave you that strength. You were born with it. You’ve had it all along.” 

The boy was silent for a moment. Then, he looked up. “You really think that?”

“I do,” he said, smile tugging fondly. “And it took me far too long to see it.”

Jim’s eyes smiled back at him. 

“Now, go and have a chat with your mother before I steal her away myself.” Walter clapped him on the shoulder. “I think I will take your advice on talking to her. And _please_ , get some rest. I will be by your side in the coming fight.” 

The Trollhunter’s laugh warmed him. Jim grabbed the bowl, and made a path toward the back door. He turned as he grabbed the handle. “Thanks, Mr. Strickler. For what its worth, it would have been an honor to have you as part of my family.”

“Likewise.”

“Take care of her for me. Make sure she laughs.”

“Always, Young Atlas.” He smiled as the boy disappeared. “Always,” he repeated to no one, as his shoulders slumped.

***

Thirty minutes later, he was on the roof, a cool breeze wafting around his wings and horns, unbiased toward he creature that he was. That same breeze also caressed Barbara, who was on the porch steps below him, unaware of his lingering. 

He’d been surprised to find her out here, still searching for answers in the stars.

His stone foot shifted uncomfortably along one of the shingles as he leaned to steel another glance at her. She sat, gaze fixed on the black horizon, the dark forms of the hills and mountains only discernible through the way they blotted out the stars. She looked uncomfortable: one arm wrapped around her waist, the other gripping her knee, red hair blazing beneath the porch-light. He wondered if any of her thoughts were about him. 

_Doubtful_ he rumbled internally, shaking his horned head toward stars. 

This wasn’t about him. None of it was anymore. 

Sitting back, he rested an elbow on his knee while his free hand reached into a hidden pocket within his loincloth. The flight he’d taken after eavesdropping on Barbara and NotEnrique had been short, but productive. _Productive_ in the sense that he’s ended up with a pocket full of the crape myrtle petals that had somehow managed to become tangled within the air stream, only hit him in the face mid-flight. 

The fact that it stung him came as something of a surprise, considering that he had donned his stony skin 

Of course it stung, he thought, of course the softest, briefest thing would hurt the most.

Out of some whimsy, he’d caught a fistful of the gentle, mauve-colored offenders. He had no idea why, and his brows furrowed at them as he uncurled his hand.

 _What an idiot,_ he thought, _collecting flowers on the eve of annihilation._

A sob caught his ears (just one for that was all she ever seemed to allow herself) and he leaned in again to spy on her.

Having curled further into herself --arms knitted her around her kneecaps, head resting atop them—she was the very vision of loneliness. She twirled her glasses within a balled fist, while the other hand hung loosely. Her eyes were closed; he could see that clearly.

The changeling felt his chest squeeze, his endearment and adoration uncontrollable. An idea braced him.

He pushed a few petals into his free palm, and sent them away with a waft of his wing. True in aim, they drifted down. Two of them fell into her hair, the other landed just at the side of her nose. She swatted at the latter as though fending off a bug. It fell to the ground.

With a wet sniff, she wiped away her tears, and then reached down to grasp the petal. 

The petals that tangled within her hair remained ensnared, despite the wind. He smiled, and sent another waft her way.

This time, she looked up to see a pair of yellow eyes glowing from the roof. Her small intake of breath halted him, but she didn’t step back.

“Walter,” she said, not in surprise or question. In fact, she nearly sounded relieved. (The latter, perhaps, was wishful thinking on his part.) His wings shuddered.

His accompanying smile was toothy, if not sheepish. “It appears that I am not the only one chasing solace in the stars.”

Barbara turned toward him as she stood, wiping am arm across the puffy, reddened ridge of her cheekbone. “Any luck on your end?”

“I fear the stars cannot distinguish me from the stones. Their light no longer graces me in the same manner. Surely, being human, you have had more luck?”

“Not really,” she said with a frown, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. She looked back up at him, blue eyes burning in the night. “Walt?”

“Yes, Barbara?” he tried to ignore the sudden tension in his shoulders. He knew what was coming, and it was long overdue.

“We need to talk.”

He paused, swallowed, nodded in acquiescence, and then gestured to the landscape around him. “Will the roof suffice?”

As an answer, she reached up. Briefly, his mind flashed those quick and terrifying moments when she’d been locked and suspended in a cage, reaching toward him as Gunmar brought her up from the depths. Although he’d guessed well enough that Gunmar would use her to force his hand, he hadn’t yet known why, and the prospect of losing her had been imminent. The dark overlord wasn’t one to strike deals. Even if he feigned a bargain, he wouldn’t have followed through. 

He’d cursed himself for ever having involved her in his life.

Shaking himself out of his thoughts, the changeling crawled further down the awning, lowering himself to his hands and knees, until he reached a long arm down. His grasp was firm, but gentle enough not to mar her with his claws. As he lifted her up, a shadow curled around and beneath her, his wing helping her the rest of the way. 

“There you are,” he said, and deposited her onto the shingles beside him. With some reluctance, he let her hand go.

“I keep forgetting you have those things,” she said, testing her stance along the shingles.

He followed her gaze to his wings, the breadth of which blotted out a portion of the star-specked sky.

“Yes,” he said, withdrawing them as tightly as he could along his back. “Me too. They only recently came back to me.”

“What do you mean?”

In a flash of green, he was human again, tilting forward to offer her his elbow.

She seemed to frown at that, but gripped his arm all the same. Together they walked toward the roof’s peak.

“I was born with wings,” his voice drifted on as they ascended. “Gunmar stole them from me centuries ago. Plucked them from my very back as punishment for defending my kind. He kept them alive, chained and flapping as a trophy above his throne, and promised them back someday as a reward for my good behavior.” They reached the top of the roof, and spread their legs out over the view of the silver-tipped mountains. 

“Jesus, Walt.”

“It was a formative lesson.” He continued, asking no pity. “I learned that if I ever wanted to get my way, I would have to be subtle, manipulative. In other words, I needed to be a _changeling._ ” He laughed mirthlessly. “When I recently left Arcadia, I went in search of a way to acquire them again. I was only ever half-a-soldier without them, you see, and if I was going to fight on Jim’s side, I needed their strength. No aid came from Morgana, despite my attempts to summon her council. Then, one morning I woke up in my troll form, absolutely doused in water, with this searing pain above my spine, and there they were. They must have come free when Gunmar left the Darklands, but I don’t understand how they managed to get to me. It would have taken a magician to fuse them back.”

“Do you think it was Morgana?”

“I don’t believe so,” he shook his head, stringing an elbow along his bent knee as he looked over the horizon. “But it doesn’t matter now. I have them, and in the days to come I will do everything within my power to contribute to the Trollhunter’s fight. I owe it to you to protect your son. I owe it to him as well. “

He could feel her eyes on him, observing him. 

‘’You know,” she said, following his gaze toward the mountains, “that first night when the kids went hunting for Merlin’s tomb, and they invited you over for ‘damage control’, I didn’t know what to think. I was worried about my son. I was also worried about how I would feel around you...” Her tattered voice trailed off.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered beneath a breath, eyes avoidant.

In his periphery, he caught her shaking her head. “I thought James was hard to deal with. No one prepares you for the day your ex-boyfriend turns out to be a troll. “

“I’m sorry,” he said again, bowing his head. The urge to say more rose up, but he couldn’t fulfill it, so ensnared was he by the fear of losing her company. He shouldn’t have come here--instead, should have let the underlying uncertainty of her affection keep them at an arms-length away. Every circumstance that had led up to this strange, alchemical shift within his heart stood before him, on the verge of crumbling. He’d keep his heart of gold, even if she went away, but it would seem less luminous without her light. Before him sat both judge and jailer. She held the mallet, she held the key, she held everything. 

A pause fell between them. “I can see that you’re trying, Walter.” He barely heard her past the wind. “Jim told me that you talked with him before he came out here. Whatever you said, he looked relieved. Thank you.”

“I told him I’d met an alchemist. Someone who took my elements, and transformed them for her better purpose.” Finally, he looked at her. 

“I’m not that powerful,” she said. He immediately thought to disagree. ‘I only uncovered something that was already there. Maybe gave it a little spit-polish, if you want to keep going along with this metaphor.” 

A smile tugged at him, though his face felt hollow. “I don’t mean to speak in riddles.” 

“You’ve had to hide you’re entire life.” She defended. “I get it. I just hope you learn one day that you don’t have to hide from me.”

“One day?” The words fluttered out of him, hopeful, yet reticent.

Another blast of wind swept past them, and she shivered. He placed a hand on her shoulder, turning her. Those blue eyes were wet with anguish when she met his furrowed gaze. “You’re cold.” He said.

“I’m afraid.” she quivered. “Not for myself, but for what I might lose tomorrow.” 

“I promise, Barbara.” He vowed, leaning toward her. “He’ll come back to you. I’ll be dead before he doesn’t."

A strange, half-incredulous noise escaped her. She reached to cup his cheek, sliding her thumb along its bony ridge. “I need _you_ to come back too.” 

Her lips brushed past his, almost accidental, save that they’d both been trying to cause this happy accident. Walter pulled back long enough to look at her through his own green and watering pools. As her eyes fluttered open, his hand covered hers, and then gently slid it down to warm his cold and beating heart. Sadness danced within her gaze, and fear, but also love.

There were still so many things to talk about. Titterings of undeserved affection and whispers quiet devotion, but words could wait. Wrapping his long arms around her, he kissed her temple, that shampoo which had so tantalized him earlier sweeping into his nostrils like the finest incense at this, his most sacred of altars. The fiery tresses of her hair coiled like vines around his fingers, binding them together as he breathed a sigh onto the top of her head. 

After a time, the muted clicks of kisses joined the swirling breeze as nighttime insects hummed and chirped around them. They clung to each other in the silver dark, silent on this eve of annihilation, and though the world was surely shattering, Walter Strickler could only feel relief.


End file.
